Yesterday, my wife and I visited Three Creeks Conservation Area, south of Columbia, where three streams converge, carving scenic gorges through the limestone bedrock of central Missouri. Our two mile hike ran along and descended into the valley of Turkey Creek, following rocky trails, passing through limestone cliffs and negotiating the dry, boulder-strewn bed of the creek, where giant slump blocks have fallen from upper walls of the gorge.
All of the rocks that we stumbled across, climbed over or gazed at from below are Mississippian limestone, deposited in shallow seas some 330 million years ago. As it accumulated beneath the seas, fern forests spread across much of the land, the first winged insects made their appearance and giant amphibians stalked extensive wetlands; reptiles, dinosaurs, birds and mammals had yet to inhabit the planet. Compressed and compacted by younger sediments which have since eroded away, the soluble limestone is now riddled with caves, underground streams and sinkholes, channeling surface water to springs that emerge along the valley walls.
Too often, we humans hike through natural landscapes without giving thought to their natural history. Many assume that they are products of God's creation, reflecting form and beauty that have been in place since day one. Those who understand that modern landscapes are merely the present manifestation of 4.6 billion years of evolution have a deeper appreciation for what they observe and are more likely to commit themselves to their protection. Hiking through an ancient sea bed, now adorned with a rich oak-hickory forest, offers plenty of inspiration.
